


Just us entwined here

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Between lovers a little confession is a dangerous thing." [Helen Rowland]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just us entwined here

**Author's Note:**

> After the Bruce/Dick fest last year, I held on to a few prompts that I wanted to fill but didn’t know how to address them at the moment and worked at them until they were somewhere good. This story (which is a sweet little fluffbomb taking place near my home island) is one such fill and stands as a long-delayed fill for prompt 29 on the list.

For Bruce, going undercover in Gotham City normally means pasting on a pencil mustache or growing out his facial hair until he looks more like Grizzly Adams than Gotham’s favorite son.

How he gets away with becoming Matches Malone when newspapers and gossip magazines in the city plaster his face and the ditzy words of his favorite mask all over their pages, Dick doesn’t know.

However, few people on the island of Sint Maarten seem to have ever heard of Bruce Wayne.

Neither the locals on the street-level with their fast-paced Dutch patois nor the hotel workers that have a greater access to the international news reports see Bruce and Dick as anything but two Americans in a large crowd of tourists from around the world.

Even the tourists clogging the pristine streets don’t give him more than a quick glance as he and Dick walk through the quaint streets of Sint Maarten’s capitol city hand in hand. And on the rare occasion that someone  _does_  stop and stare, it’s more likely attributed to the fact that Dick is taking full advantage of the tropical climate in order to get away with the smallest articles of clothing in his suitcase.

For all that Sint Maarten is a tropical paradise where bikini-clad models wander around the main shops on the water front, apparently men with Dick’s lean musculature are novel enough to (literally) stop traffic on the cobbled streets. As always, Dick doesn’t seem to notice the looks, but Bruce does.

Bruce can’t  _stop_  noticing the appreciative looks that linger over Dick’s bare chest and it puts a scowl on his face that has  _nothing_  to do with the gun traffickers that they’ve tracked down to the picturesque island.

“They’re looking at you,” Bruce says, keeping his voice low after yet another one of the tourists around them stops and stares at where Dick is balancing on the crumbling side of an old fountain.

When Dick shifts his weight onto his left hand and cups the side of Bruce’s shoulder with the other as he balances with his legs up above his head, Bruce shakes his head and hides a smile in his collar.

At night, when Batman and Nightwing skulk through the island in search of proof of corrupt politicians and the shipment of guns spirited out of Gotham in the middle of the night a few days earlier, Dick is a consummate professional.

During the day though, when they’re playing at being wealthy tourists with an interest in the island nation’s less talked about centers of trade, Dick is truly bright. He shines under attention that he never acknowledges with more than a fleeting, flirtatious smile, doing backflips and cartwheels throughout the pedestrian-only streets before bounding back to Bruce’s side and linking their arms together.

“We should do this for real,” Dick says, voice strained for a second before he lets himself fall forward a little so that he can get both of his feet back on the ground. He bounces back to sit at Bruce’s side in the next second and leans against the other man until their arms brush.

Bruce grunts and says, “Don’t tell me you actually  _enjoy_  spending time chasing dead ends,” in a tone that almost seems offended.

Dick laughs in response and shoves his shoulder into Bruce’s arm in a gentle nudge.

“You know what I mean,” Dick says as tourists walk around them, no longer staring now that Dick has changed from entertaining to participating in a private conversation. “We need a real vacation. This is good for a start, but I want to wake up and reach for you without pulling any stitches.”

Something in Dick’s voice changes, softens, and he curls his fingers into the paler skin of Bruce’s forearm in a gesture that they couldn’t possibly have in Gotham without it winding up blasted all over the internet several minutes later.

“Why don’t we wrap things up fast here and then turn this into a real vacation? Just the two of us and that big bed that we haven’t slept in for a full night since Sunday.”

Bruce hums, the sound soft enough that it doesn’t really sound like much to the untrained ear. He reaches for Dick’s hand and squeezes it, almost as though he’s getting ready to let Dick down easy.

Dick’s hopes go way down and he frowns, tensing as he prepares to pull away and go back to pretending that he’s fine. “Bruce, if you’re—”

“I’d like that,” Bruce says, voice soft as though he’s though he’s expecting rejection to come from Dick of all people. “We do deserve some time to ourselves. Maybe, we could call in some outside help and be done with the traffickers by the end of the week.”

Dick blinks. “You’d do that for me,” he asks.

“I’d do anything for you,” Bruce says and the honesty in that admission makes Dick jerk from surprise.

Bruce looks at Dick, really looks at him, and for a second it’s as though they’re no longer in Sint Maarten. For a second, it feels as though they’re the only two people in the world and that life can’t possibly get any better.

Bruce fidgets, a rare sight for Dick who’s used to seeing Bruce as larger than life, and when their eyes meet, there’s a brightness in his eyes that nothing to do with the sun beaming down on them. Bruce brushes his thumb over the back of Dick’s hand and when he speaks again, his voice almost seems normal except for the faintest tremor that the average person off the street wouldn’t notice.

But Dick notices. How can he not.

“You know that, don’t you? I’d move mountains to make you smile, Dick, I—”

Dick doesn’t let Bruce finish his sentence. He pushes himself into Bruce’s lap and kisses him soundly, moving his mouth against Bruce’s own even though they’re so in public that someone should probably start to sell tickets. When he breaks the kiss, Dick’s mouth is soft and red from the pressure.

“How are you even  _real_ , Bruce?”


End file.
